


Breathe

by quirkle



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Buckle up, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief, Guilt, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Link (Legend of Zelda) Needs a Hug, Mourning, Post-Breath of the Wild, Self-Blame, Survivor Guilt, Talking Link (Legend of Zelda), Whump, Worried Zelda, and not to toot my horn or anything but i be kinda proud of it, i guess, i put Link through the ringer in this one guys sorry, i suppose this could be considered emotional whump, i wrote this as a sort of challenge, me while writing 3k words about Link suffering: LET HIM REST, self-hate, there's a lot of semicolons and idk if i used ANY of them correctly, this is like... really angsty, to see if I could write an entire one shot about Link feeling guilty, without ever using the word "guilt" once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkle/pseuds/quirkle
Summary: He heard a sniffle from Zelda and he finally looked up at the headstone, finally met consequence’s intimidating glare.And under all that weight, he buckled.“I’m sorry,” he croaked in a voice that barely reached over the crickets and boomed across the desert all at once. He didn’t know who he was apologizing to - Zelda or Urbosa. But the weight, the desperation in his tone said that he was apologizing to everything he’d destroyed. “I-I’m so sorry.”
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 248





	Breathe

He tried not to look.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, burying herself in the sand and spilling faded pink and purple across a dark canvas. The crickets filled the silence, their songs made of solitude and stillness echoing off the rocks and stone pillars. Coupled with the gentle breeze picking up little grains of sand here and there, it created a night of airy silence, a sort of lonely freedom that had often accompanied him during his journey. He could hear a lizard scuttling across the rocks. He could hear the breeze ruffle the patches of greenery where hydromelons grew - gentle little scratches coming from the leaves when they scraped against each other. Here, on the other side of the wall on the outskirts of Gerudo Town, the desert was quiet and lively all at once. He could hear the Earth breathe. He could breathe along with her and know peace.

So he tried to focus on feeling Earth’s heartbeat through the soles of his feet instead of staring at the stone that shouldn’t be there, with a mourning Princess knelt before it.

A royal blue fabric - the same shade of the tunic he shouldn’t be wearing - was draped over the edge of the stone, gently dancing in the light breeze and using its bright color to demand attention in the drawl, dusty sea of sand and sunbaked ruins. Flowers that shouldn’t have been picked for this occasion crowned the top of it and nestled near the bottom - they called to him, whispered his name and pulled at his mind until it stretched too far, too thin. The gifts and the jewelry that don’t belong there were settled there in the sand - they caught the moonlight and glinted like a beacon, waving for him to look, to listen. The name meticulously etched into the carefully carved limestone - the name that should not have been carved into a headstone so early - glared at him, growled at him, snarled at him to pay attention, to acknowledge. And the girl that knelt before it all - the girl that should not be griefing - had her head dipped down, short hair hanging to shield her face, hands endlessly fidgeting with the fabric of her dress as her shoulders shook. And it _screamed_ at him.

An animal was gnawing on his soul. The feeling was dreadfully familiar, almost _normal_ at this point - the weight in his chest and the bugs scuttling around in his skull were simply a part of him now. The effort of holding back tears and blinking away the blurriness was simply second nature. The crushing weight he had to carefully and methodically breathe through was expected nowadays. And even as it plagued him every day, even as it nestled in his lungs and made a home in his chest, melding with his very being until he didn’t think it possible to separate them, it was still mind-numbingly overwhelming. It still hurt just as bad as day one, still weighed just as much, if not more.

He couldn’t even recall a time after the Calamity when the weight hadn’t been with him; perhaps the week or so he’d been traversing the Great Plateau when he’d been utterly lost and confused, but he couldn’t say that had been a good week for him either. Above the cascade and cacophony of emotions rolling through him after that, there had been a consistent _dread_ settling into his stomach. He’d felt it climb up his throat every time Kass would sing him the lyrics of old battles, he’d feel it grow hot and vicious every time he’d pass by a ruin he didn’t recognize but felt a connection to. He’d felt it freeze and expand and become too big for his chest every time he’d ride by a stable and listen to the folks complain about the monsters that shouldn’t exist. Staring up at the statue in the middle of Zora’s Domain made his knees want to buckle under the weight. Even looking at Yunobo and Riju made him want to scream. Holding the Great Eagle Bow in his hands made them shake too hard to use it.

Seeing the ruins that was Hyrule Castle, permanently taunting him from a distance, made him want to vomit.

It was crushing. It was a horrid, crushing feeling. And Link knew he could only take so much weight.

But he breathed. He worked his lungs carefully, manually, took measured inhales and timed exhales, and he _breathed_. And most of the time, it worked. Most of the time, it staved off the heaviness for a while and it allowed him a moment of peace. Sometimes he’d have the passing thought that he didn’t deserve to feel at peace, but he’s usually pretty good at ignoring that bit.

Not now. Not tonight.

Because tonight was the night that four heroes had died one hundred and two years ago, and Zelda was knelt in front of one of their graves, a sort of sadness surrounding her that someone like Zelda did not deserve.

His fingers tightened around his sword’s grip, the blade shifting in the desert sand. _Breathe._

He trained his ears on the subtle _tktktk_ of a beetle scurrying across the rocks. Link searched for the sounds of the town beyond the wall, listened for any late night conversations on the other side. He let his chest rhythmically expand, willed his lungs to do what they’re told as the crickets chirped. A cold chill ran through him as the cool breeze made his cheeks red. He made the mistake of looking up at Wasteland Tower and seeing Vah Naboris still crouched there next to it; he quickly looked away and clenched his sword’s grip again until his knuckles turned white.

They’d visited all their graves today. They’d gone to Rito Village first, ate the feast the Rito had prepared in celebration of their Champion’s life, watched the children fly around and pretend to use Revali’s Gale. They’d teleported to Goron City, listened to fun stories from Bludo and Yunobo as they gazed at the impressive carving of Daruk looming over their home, protecting them. They’d visited Zora’s Domain and told Prince Sidon of her sister’s gentleness with loved ones and gracefulness in battle, Zelda admiring the statue with a bittersweet gaze and Link keeping his eyes on anything but. And then they’d visited Gerudo Town, where they finally made an exception for Link to enter and they held an old fashioned Gerudo celebration, complete with drinks and festivities, telling tales of Urbosa’s triumphs in and out of battle.

And now the festivities were over, and people were in bed. Now the sun had surrendered her golden grip and the moon bathed them in silver. Now Zelda sat in front of the grave of her dear friend.

And now it was hard to breathe.

Link had an odd relationship with reflecting. It was often so lonely and so quiet on his travels that his mind instinctively ventured off, and it often wasn’t happy thoughts it found. It got to thinking about his situation, others’ situations, his long to-do list, his short time to do it, the reason he had to do these things in the first place. It got to thinking of what went wrong, where, why, how, and then it got to thinking of what he could’ve done better. He could’ve done so many things. He could have saved so many lives.

But he didn’t. And then the lives he’d failed to protect gave him a second chance he didn’t deserve.

Link forced his breaths to stay calm, stay steady. Keeping his gaze away from the name etched into that headstone hurt him so much, but he knew looking at it would hurt him even more. And he supposed that was selfish, but that didn’t stop him from being scared.

Urbosa had spoken highly of him when he’d defeated Thunderblight. She’d believed in him, in his skill, in his courage, and Link didn’t understand why. He didn’t understand the unwavering confidence in her gaze when she looked at him; he didn’t understand the pinprick of pride in her eyes. She’d given him a power that he didn’t deserve, just like the whole of Hyrule kept giving all they had left to a boy who’d taken everything away from them.

And then she’d said it. She’d said the words that still boggled his mind to this day, still made his head spin. He thought about it often, when his mind strayed to the inevitable. There were so many emotions coupled with it, so many thoughts sprinkled around his head, so many things he wanted to say back to it.

_No one need carry blame._

And she’d said it with such authority, such sincerity, with so much genuine _belief_ in her tone that Link had almost believed her himself. She’d been speaking of the Princess in that moment, but Link, despite him knowing of the selfishness, could only apply it to himself.

He hated that the clearest memory he has of her did nothing but spark _anger_ in his chest.

Because yes, fingers should be pointed. No, this wasn’t _how it had to happen._ People didn’t need to die for him to save Hyrule. He didn’t need to spend one hundred years being useless in order to keep the people safe. No amount of suffering _had to happen_ for Link to do his job. _The fingers should be pointing at him._

And yet they’re not. And Link doesn’t know why.

He wanted to scream sometimes. It baffled him to no end, to the point where it _frustrated_ him to see little villages barely scraping by, travelers and merchants being ambushed by Bokoblins, their food supplies running low because monsters kept eating it and them being… _okay_ with that. They just… call that another Tuesday. They think it’s normal. Link is the one that forced this new, dreadful normal on them. And they call him a Hero for it.

He feels like he’s living a lie. And it makes it all so much more heavy.

His hands were shaking; his _mind_ was shaking, buzzing, vibrating with an intensity that put too much pressure on his bones. His soul bled with everything bad, leaked with every horrid thing he’s ever done as if there were simply too many to be contained within. A ball of lead was in his stomach, and his stomach was in his throat, and the surrounding wilderness was doing a piss poor job of distracting him - he couldn’t hear the crickets anymore. He couldn’t hear the lizards and the bugs burrowing in the sand, he couldn’t feel the cool breeze ruffle his hair- there was just static. His skull was about to explode, his knees were about to buckle under _everything_ being toppled onto him; the pressure, the pain, the sorrow, the _world_. His ribs were about to combust.

He heard a sniffle from Zelda and he finally looked up at the headstone, finally met consequence’s intimidating glare.

And under all that weight, he buckled.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked in a voice that barely reached over the crickets and boomed across the desert all at once. His voice was raspy, tone desperate, and it was only then that he felt the wetness on his cheeks. His grip on his sword, on his destiny faltered.

He didn’t know who he was apologizing to - Zelda or Urbosa. But the weight, the desperation in his tone said that he was apologizing to everything he’d destroyed. “I-I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t know when Zelda had looked back at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, moonlight reflecting her wet gaze and the tracks down her cheeks, and he didn’t know why the air suddenly felt so tight and so loose all the same, but he suddenly couldn’t stop. He didn’t know if he was looking at Zelda or through her to Urbosa’s grave, but he was suddenly croaking out words in the most pathetic voice he’s ever heard, chest shuddering, lips quivering, walls crumbling.

“I-I’m so sorry. I-I… i-it’s my fa-ault. I-I’m so sorry,” he breathed out, tears meeting the sand in between his boots, hitting his knuckles and trickling between his fingers. His breath hitched, and no words leaving his mouth had ever crushed him flat and lifted him into the air so much. So words had ever felt more freeing and more imprisoning than _I’m sorry_. He has yet to apologize for ruining lives, for layering Earth’s crust with bodies. He has yet to apologize to Zelda, or to the Champions. He didn’t apologize when he’d spoken to each of them, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself so much.

He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t see past the blurriness and the anger, couldn’t feel past the agonizing pressure and the soul-crushing consequences and it was like his mind had locked up. It was like it had shut down, had frozen in place and all he could get out was another string of _I’m so sorry_ s. The hurricane was simply too harsh, too loud, too _much_ , and all he knew how to do was condense it all into a measly _I’m sorry_ and he hated himself even more because they all deserved so much more than that. _She_ deserved so much more than that.

Link had destroyed everything, and all he could do was fucking say _sorry._

He didn’t know when Zelda had appeared in front of him, had put her gentle hands on his arms, but through the slurred colors and the stretched reflections he found her gaze, her eyes wide in alarm, in worry, in some sort of realization that Link wasn’t a part of. Her lips were moving, shiny fern eyes darting across his pinched features, but the words didn’t get past the static. He distantly, vaguely felt something hit his foot and his warbled mind supplied him with his sword being the source, falling over and hitting the sand as Zelda carefully undid the iron grip he’d had around the pommel. Warm hands replaced the cool metal and they were so gentle and kind and careful with their movements and it made Link even angrier because _he didn’t deserve that._ Why was she showing kindness to the person who’d ruined her life- who’d killed her family, her friends? Why did it seem like he was living in a different reality than everybody else, where they believed he was the good guy, the Hero who’d done nothing but give? Why were they all so blind?!

Link wasn’t very familiar with anger. He didn’t get angry very often, and he certainly didn’t shout. But there were emotions swirling around in him that he didn’t even have names for, and Zelda’s kindness to the boy who’d taken everything from her just sparked a new bonfire. The only problem was Link didn’t even know how to properly or effectively express it.

So he simply sobbed.

Zelda’s voice was garbled and distant over the static, but he could feel her hands come up to his jawline, could feel her fingers graze his cheeks. She thumbed the tears away and he could hear his name, could see her lips pour it out and he stared and tried to focus on her words.

“-nk, listen to me. _Please_ , listen to me. It’s not your fault. _None_ of this is-”

“Y-Yes it is!” Link sobbed, and even as the unbridled raged boiled in his chest at her kind touch, he found the disgustingly selfish part of him leaning into the touch. “The-ey’re dead because of _me!”_

“Link- _no_ , please listen to me,” Zelda pleaded with a sort of desperate, sad gaze that left Link with an ugly feeling. “Please don’t blame yourself. Link, you have absolutely _nothing_ to be sorry for!”

“I-I took ev’rythin’ from you. I had _one_ job!” Link sobbed out as he gripped her wrists, held onto them to anchor himself. His legs were trembling and he was a sobbing mess and he suddenly felt hot and embarrassed. Even if their relationship had evolved into something beyond a Princess and her knight, she still shouldn’t see him like this.

Zelda must’ve noticed his knees beginning to buckle because she slowly lowered both of them down so that they were knelt in the cool sand. Hands cradled his face, gently motioned for him to look up, and when he reluctantly obeyed he saw her stricken face, her wide, dare he say devastated eyes and he wanted to stab himself. But as he let out another sob, Zelda spoke.

“Oh, Link… you didn’t take anything from me,” she whispered, brushing the bangs out of his face and showing a sad, wobbly smile. “You didn’t take anything from anybody. All you’ve ever done is give. Even after a hundred years, you still give.”

“There sho-ouldn’t have been a hundr’d years t’ begin with,” Link cried through clenched teeth, breeze cold against his wet cheeks.

“Link, Ganon ambushed us in a way we never thought possible. It took everything we had and turned it against us. Please believe me when I say no one is to blame for that,” Zelda breathed, her own tears spilling over her cheeks as her lip wobbled. “I know how heavy it can get. And I’m so sorry you’ve been holding onto this for so long… but _please._ _Please_ don’t think you’re the cause of all this.”

Warm arms were suddenly encasing him and a comforting hand pressed against the back of his head, tucking it into the crook of her shoulder. Frozen against her chest, he could feel Zelda let out a shuddering breath as she held him close, cradled him like he was worth something. Above the quiet chorus of crickets, she spoke softly, but with purpose. Her words were wobbly with emotion, but firm with meaning and she hugged him tighter as she spoke, tears falling onto Link’s shoulder.

“You didn’t take everything away from Hyrule,” she breathed, her voice a gentle song, her words a powerful choir. “Goddess, Link… Hyrule’s the one that’s taken everything from you.”

Link stared past her shoulder, past the static and the fog and the white-hot rage, to lay his eyes on the royal blue fabric draped over the headstone in front of him. He stared at the name etched there, the warrior’s words running through his head like a mantra, Zelda’s pleas bouncing off the walls of his skull like a desperate cry. And it was in that moment, the two of them knelt in the cool sand with the crickets their only company, that something in him clicked. A puzzle piece snapped into place, something inside of him moved like old, rusted gears, and the weight was suddenly a little lighter. The words chipped away at the block of concrete in his chest and the pressure was no longer unbearable; his lungs sucked in a breath of loose, clean air he’d been starved of for so long he’d forgotten what it tasted like. And even as most of the weight was still piled on, still chaining him down relentlessly, he felt so much lighter that he might as well have been floating. He might as well have been flying, and even though he could still feel the bricks tied to his ankles, he still felt so incredibly free. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt this weightless.

Link let out another sob and hugged her back, sagged against her and held onto her like she’d disappear if he didn’t, and it felt so rejuvenating. She whispered soft reassurances, raked her fingers through his hair, held him so closely, so gently, so dearly that you’d think she held the world in her arms. She cradled him until Link’s sobs turned into cries and his cries turned into sniffles, and even after that, Zelda still held him. She still whispered the kindest of words to him, still treated him to the gentlest of touches.

Her words hadn’t been a cure. They hadn’t instantly washed his worries away, nor had Link really believed them, but the puzzle piece they had snapped into place allowed him to think that someday, he might. Someday, he might hear her say those words again and he’d take them as the truth. One day, he’d be weightless.

But for now, Link could at least hear the Earth breathe again. And he breathed along with her.

**Author's Note:**

> here's a Bucket of Sadness, that'll cost you your heart and soul-
> 
> Come scream into the void with me on [Tumblr](https://quirkle2.tumblr.com/).


End file.
